Immortal Remains 2 - 30 Days of Night

by Steve Niles

  Standing at the edge of the Vicksburg Canal, where dozens of riverboats had been moored to provide shelter for those whose homes had been destroyed in the shelling, Marlow turned on Dane in a sudden rage. He carried a cane in those days—an affectation, as he didn’t need it to walk—and with it he beat Dane savagely. Dane fell to the ground and Marlow kept up the assault, lashing out with one vicious strike after another. When he decided he was done, Marlow stopped with no more notice than he had started and reached down to help Dane back to his feet.

  “Sometimes I just don’t know how to reach you, Dane,” he said, a small smile on his face. “You keep acting as if human traits are somehow still worthy of emulation. Courage, dignity, mercy—those words have no meaning for us anymore. They are ideas we left behind with our mortality, and well that we did. You are now of the nosferatu, Dane. You hunt. You feed. You kill. Trying to cling to the old ways does you no good. Of course, from time to time, if you see an exceptional specimen, you might choose to turn him or her, as I did you, to continue advancing our species with the best it can offer. But the time is nigh that you gave up trying to cling to a humanity that you are no longer part of.”

  And from that day forward, Dane had never turned a single human.

  He killed only when he had to, in order to survive. He could not bring himself to think of humans as livestock. He could not shake his respect for the accomplishments of humanity: the great books, the philosophies, the scientific achievements, the ideals of freedom and democracy that had remade the social landscape of the planet since his birth in the first quarter of the nineteenth century.

  Despite Marlow’s beatings, he could never agree that every vampire, even those mosquitoes scavenging the dead, was more worthy than every mortal.

  The dispute would lead to greater confrontations, in the years to come.

  “Dane.”

  Dane realized he had been drifting in his past instead of paying attention to the present. Mitch stood before him on AJ’s boat. “We’re here,” he said. “Or close enough, anyway. Braddock Key.”

  “Let’s not get too close,” Dane said, refocusing. “If Dela is here, I don’t want him to sense Ananu nearby. I can go in on a raft if AJ has one, or swim if I need to.”

  “I’ve got a nine-foot Zodiac inflatable with an outboard,” AJ said. “It’s all inflated and ready for you.”

  “Perfect,” Dane said. He rose from his seat and stretched. He’d been thinking about ancient history when he should have been figuring out just how he would go about facing Bork Dela. He supposed he would have to deal with that question when he got onto the island. “AJ, do you know anything about Braddock Key?”

  “It barely qualifies as an island,” AJ said. “At high tide almost half of it’s underwater. A guy named Clayton Bowdoin built himself a mansion on it once, apparently as part of a plan to create a plantation there. Had slave quarters, docks, the whole bit. But even with the slave labor, he couldn’t make a go of it out there. Hard to grow anything when your crops are submerged half the time. He tried bringing in boatloads of soil, hoping to build up the thickness of the key, but that never worked, either. Finally he killed himself, or so they say. Other people claim the slaves rebelled and murdered him in his bed. The house still stands, but it’s haunted. That’s the rumor anyway. People tend to keep away from it, though, so maybe there’s something to it.”

  “You think the docks are still there?”

  “They were last I checked, but man, that was probably seven, eight years ago. And ‘still there’ don’t necessarily mean functional, right?”

  “I just wondered if I’d be able to tie up the boat there.”

  “Yeah, probably. There’ll be pilings at least. You might get a little wet between there and the house.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  AJ had cut the boat’s lights and chugged on toward Braddock Key by the light of moon and stars. When he declared that they had come as close as they dared, Dane looked but could only see the island as a smudge of black against the dark water and starry night sky.

  He went down to the berth to say good-bye to Ananu. She was awake, still not feeling well, and he left her more convinced than ever about her situation. On deck, AJ had unlashed the Zodiac from its place on the bow and tossed it into the waves. Dane promised to send some kind of signal when it was safe for Mitch and AJ to come ashore, or to get himself back to shore on the Zodiac if necessary.

  When he was on the open sea with the motor humming, one hand on the till, Dane was able to relax and stop pretending to be a human. Mitch knew his real nature, but he hadn’t yet revealed it to Ananu or AJ. Keeping up the illusion was draining, to say the least.

  Fortunately he wouldn’t need it with Bork Dela.

  But what would he need? That was still a mystery. As the little boat skimmed the tops of the waves and the island hove into view, tall palms cutting silhouettes against the stars, the stab of fear hit him again, and he knew he would find out soon enough.

  14

  AJ’s DESCRIPTION of the docks proved accurate. Even after so many years and the wet, humid conditions, a few planks of rotted wood jutted out from the shore. They didn’t come close to reaching the pilings, some of which rose from the water a dozen feet or more from the rushes indicating land’s edge. Detached pilings swayed in the gentle waves like blades of grass being pushed by an intermittent breeze.

  Dane had cut the engine as soon as the island’s outline became clear to him, and rowed in the rest of the way. The current pushed him toward the pilings, and he switched from rowing to using the oar to keep himself from being dashed into the ancient wood. He worked his way to the only sturdy-looking one near shore and tied the Zodiac there, stowing the oar carefully.

  Climbing from the boat, he waded a few feet through cool knee-high water. At the shoreline, saw grass spiked out toward the water, knife edges slashing at him as he shoved through them. The growth here was jungle thick and he pushed through vines, tangled kudzu, and more as he made his way inland, looking for any hint of the house AJ had told him about. The fetid, rich smells of fertile soil and abundant growth quickly overwhelmed the acrid, salty tang of the sea.

  He stumbled upon a path beaten down by foot traffic over long years, with tall grasses lining it on either side. Working his way up it, away from the shore and toward where he hoped the house would be, he soon heard voices speaking in hushed tones. He couldn’t make out the words, just the murmur of speech underneath the splash of waves and the wind rustling through the foliage. He stepped off the vestigial trail he had found and squatted behind some heavy brush.

  A minute later their odor wafted to him.

  Vampires. Looking for him? Probably—Bork Dela didn’t strike Dane as someone who left security to chance.

  Dane waited. When they came into view, he knew he had seen them before. One heavyset, thick faced, the other lean with long, greasy dark hair. These were the ones he had fought outside the warehouse where he and Mitch had found Ananu. He hadn’t known who they served then, or what the warehouse concealed. If he had, he wouldn’t have let them walk away.

  But Dane knew better now.

  When the two had reached the place where Dane hid—the thick-faced one sniffing the air, catching Dane’s scent—he struck. “There he is!” the heavy one shouted as Dane lunged.

  Dane reached for that one’s face even as he turned toward his companion. The fingers of Dane’s right hand dug into the flesh behind the vampire’s jaw. In midstride, Dane shifted his weight, aiming for the skinny one. The heavy vampire, reflexively trying to pull away, threw his weight in the opposite direction. Dane tugged the vampire’s skin as he reached for the long-haired bloodsucker, and the heavy one gave a howl of agony.

  Dane slammed his forehead into the thin one’s chin, sending him reeling back. At the same moment, Dane turned to see the heavy one stumbling toward him, the left half of his face hanging in shreds, blood spilling onto his thick chest, muscle and bone gleaming in the
moonlight.

  Blinded by pain and blood, he swung a meaty arm at Dane but missed. Dane easily sidestepped his assault and closed on the other vampire. The long-haired one had recovered from Dane’s surprise attack and charged at Dane with fangs bared. Dane met his charge, grabbing two fistfuls of greasy locks. Stepping back to use the other’s momentum, he spun the vampire and yanked him off the path, slamming his head into a nearby tree.

  Spanish moss draped a low-hanging branch. Still holding his hair with one hand, Dane reached up and snapped off the branch, close to the trunk, leaving about six inches remaining on the tree. The skinny vampire snarled and clawed at Dane’s throat, but Dane kept him off balance by tugging on his hair. Finally, the vampire reared back, ripping the hair from his own head in order to free himself from Dane’s grip. He was too late to save himself, though—Dane doubled his fists together and drove them into his ribs. When he bent forward in pain, Dane grabbed his head in both hands and plowed it into the jagged stub of branch he had left on the tree.

  The vampire screamed and Dane freed his head, then repeated the process. He felt the vampire’s skull give under his hands as the branch destroyed it from the other side, pushing through to Dane. The fight went out of the long-haired one. Dane left him hanging on the section of branch to focus on his stockier companion.

  Still mostly blind, this bloodsucker lurched and stumbled toward Dane, arms flailing before him. As he hunted for his prey, a ghastly roar issued from his ruined mouth. He sucked a flap of loose skin in at the end of it and spat it out and roared again, a wordless, senseless sound of agonized frustration.

  Dane almost felt sorry for him. He waved at the vampire’s good eye and the bloodsucker saw him and swung his whole body around as if a pole ran up through him and he couldn’t swivel at the waist or neck. Dane watched him take an unsteady step, two, and then he took the vampire’s head in his hands, the fingers of his right sinking into the muscle, scraping bone, and he twisted.

  The heavy vampire dropped to his knees, keening an unintelligible wail, like a mourner from ancient Babylon. Dane went around behind the guy and kept twisting, twisting, and the bloodsucker waved his arms helplessly. Liquid bubbled from his mouth and from a hole that had opened in his neck, hot and foul smelling, and then the bones in his neck snapped and muscle tore and the vampire went silent. Dane released him. The thick body flopped forward like a felled tree, the rank liquid streaming from both ends, only a few strings of skin and gristle holding the head to the body.

  Dane wiped his hands off on some broad leaves, eager to cleanse himself of the foul gore.

  If Dela doesn’t know I’m here by now…

  Fifteen minutes later, Dane saw the white house looming ahead of him, spectral in the silver moonlight.

  Empty window frames gaped like eyeless sockets. Columns—Doric? Ionic? Dane couldn’t remember—fronted the structure, but two had fallen over the years, tumbling forward and breaking into smaller cylindrical shapes, giving the whole thing the air of an ancient Greek ruin. Fittingly, a trio of bats flitted in front of the full moon.

  Maybe it’s not haunted, Dane thought. On the other hand, it definitely looks that way from here.

  He approached it slowly, carefully. On the way up the path, Dane had encountered two more vampire sentries, quickly dispatched with a stout length of wood that he used as a club to smash their heads in. He fully expected more guards or other security measures here at the house.

  Whether or not Bork Dela even used the house remained an open question.

  Most vampires, in Dane’s experience, appreciated creature comforts when they could get them. A roof and four walls to keep out the elements, furniture. And if Dela had, in fact, been kidnapping people for some reason, he would need someplace to hold them. The warehouse where they’d found Ananu might have been a commonly used transit point, but Dane had seen no evidence that it was a final destination.

  Four steps, the middle two rotted through and caved in, led up to a wooden front door. The paint on the door had weathered mostly away, leaving just the ghost of the original white. Rust had tried to claim the hardware, but bending close, Dane could see indications of recent wear on the knob.

  He stood back on sagging porch boards and took another moment to study his situation.

  He smelled the air, catching whiffs of vampire activity, but if this doorway was commonly used, that would stay in the air, even seeping into the wood. He heard only the wind in the trees and, distantly now, the rumble of the surf.

  Approaching the doorknob again, he stood to one side and reached over, giving it a twist. If anything came through the door, the exterior wall would protect him.

  He hoped.

  The knob turned easily in his hand.

  He gave the door a gentle push and it swung open silently, on hinges that obviously saw plenty of use.

  He waited a second, tasting the air that came through the doorway. It was a little mustier than that outside, but not much—hardly surprising since the windows had no glass in them.

  When nothing happened, Dane risked peering inside.

  The floor looked much as one would expect it to. It had been constructed of hardwood, which had weathered and rotted out in some spots. Leaves had blown in. Moss and even some weeds grew up through the holes, and one section of wall, near a staircase, had mushrooms growing through it, forming little fungal shelves.

  In spite of the ease with which the door had opened, the house didn’t look inhabited from here.

  Bracing himself for anything, makeshift club at the ready, Dane stepped through the door.

  The place had been a regular Southern mansion once, it seemed. Wallpaper had long since frayed and rotted away, but he could make out remnants of it on some walls. Furniture remained in place, most of it broken, eaten by termites, or simply too old to have survived. Dane passed from room to room, finding more of the same. Dining room, kitchen, pantry, parlor—none showed any signs of recent use. A spiderweb blocked the doorway to the parlor; the spider crouched near its center, almost as big across as Dane’s hand. Holes had been gnawed at the baseboards, rodent droppings everywhere.

  He returned to the foyer and looked up the staircase. It rose to a landing halfway up, then turned and continued out of sight. The faint moonlight through the open door and windows didn’t illuminate anything above the landing.

  Some of the stairs appeared rotten, but others seemed whole. Dane realized that one could climb the solid ones, stepping over the decayed ones without too much difficulty. He started up to the first good stair, putting his foot down close to the wall to minimize creaking. As he did, he heard a soft rustle from overhead. He froze, club raised.

  The sound didn’t repeat. A rat possibly, or the ghost of Clayton Bowdoin stirring. Even a branch blowing against the outside wall.

  Or someone setting a trap.

  No way to find out from here. Dane continued up the stairs.

  When he reached the landing, he carefully tested the boards ahead of him. The first one he tried creaked loudly, so he stepped past that and tried the next.

  He had just placed his toe on it when a voice called out, distant and plaintive. “Help, mister!” It sounded like a child’s voice, but it had a weird, ethereal quality. “Help us!”

  Us? Dane froze, listening for more.

  Then another voice, this one louder, more intense. “Dane! Help!”

  Ananu? He had left her on the boat—and the boat well offshore—specifically to keep her out of Dela’s hands. How had he captured her again? Did he have Mitch and AJ, too?

  “Ananu!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

  “Dane!” she called again. She sounded somehow more distant this time. “Help me!” He couldn’t tell if she had heard him at all.

  He wanted to dash up the stairs and find her. But he knew the steps couldn’t all be trusted, and it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he fell through or snapped a leg on the way.

  Above the landing, moving into darkness—
through which he and other vampires could see perfectly well—the air smelled fresher. Again, this made sense—the upstairs windows were broken, too, which would have created some cross ventilation, but more growth would have taken place below, closer to the ground and the tides.

  Dane kept going, still hugging the wall, sniffing for Ananu.

  As he neared the top he could see a long hallway, lined with doors. Some were open, moonlight filtering through windows into the hall. The rustling noise hadn’t recurred. The house seemed empty—maybe not haunted, but not occupied either.

  The first door on the left of the stairs was closed. Dane listened, then hearing nothing, he opened it.

  Immediately inside was another door. This one was steel, like the door to a meat locker. Dane leaned his club against the doorjamb, worked the latches and swung it open.

  The smell of blood rushed into his face. Fresh, rich, human blood—lots of it. Sudden hunger knotted Dane’s stomach.

  Inside, he saw that it was a meat locker, or something like one, which had been hidden in this old house. The floor must have been reinforced to support the steel room, almost the size of the original room it occupied.

  The locker was vacant. Blood congealed in pools on the floor. Leather straps had been mounted on the walls, just at the right height to restrain people seated on the floor. Slots high in the back wall indicated a vent that allowed air circulation from outside. The unique aroma of Ananu was not present, and Dane hadn’t heard her since the landing. He hadn’t heard the kid again, either.

  Apparently this was the place where the captives were held. Or one of them—for all he knew there were several rooms like this secreted on the property, or elsewhere on the island.